


And So The Balance Shifts

by Oatsie



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Age Difference, Alexander is here but far away, Fluff, M/M, Secret Crush, War for Independence, dubious high school french
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:08:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26657935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oatsie/pseuds/Oatsie
Summary: George Washington looks for some peace and quiet, a hard thing to find during a war. When he finds it, he's interrupted by someone unexpected, but not unwanted.
Relationships: Gilbert du Motier Marquis de Lafayette/George Washington
Comments: 4
Kudos: 30





	And So The Balance Shifts

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, this is baby's first published fanfic, so I'm a bit nervous lmao.   
> I hope the French I use is correct but if not, let me know! I was trying to write Lafayette as he speaks in the show, hence the fairly stereotypical accent.  
> I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I did writing it!

At the summer sun’s apex, casting shadows on the Virginian peaks beneath, a man’s silhouette cut just as imposing a figure. Nobody made it their business to question where George Washington was headed, and that’s the way he liked it.

The dry leaves crackled under the commander’s feet as he made his way to the peak of the hill. He looked around with caution; whether it was for possible incoming redcoats or overenthusiastic soldiers, even he wasn’t sure. Confident, he eased himself down against the tree trunk.

He was finally alone. 

Fighting a war against an empire hundreds of years old was hard work. It took a toll on his body certainly (men over 40 were never made to scale embankments at speed, he decided) but the mental labour was even worse. He was expected to be tactician, marksman, leader, soldier and father to all the young men in the encampment below. In every one, he saw a fragment of himself.

“Bonne nuit, Monsieur Washington.”

George wasn’t sure when his eyes had closed, but they flew open in an instant at the voice. His head whipped upwards, expecting an intruder. Instead, what smirked down at him was the familiar face of his French general. The older man clicked his tongue and shook his head.

“You shouldn’t sneak up on me like that.”

“I approached from the front, it was not sneaking. Would you like me to “sneak” away once more, monsieur?”

Lafayette’s tone was playful, but his dark eyes watched Washington carefully, feet turning back toward camp if he were to be dismissed. Were it anyone else, he would have accepted the offer. George’s hand patted the grass beside him.

“Sit with me, Gilbert.”

“Oh? D’accord.” 

His gaze followed the marquis as he sat. He couldn’t help but drink in the smallest details: his delicate posture betraying his noble status, the way he moved his ponytail to the side as his head brushed against the bark. Washington was reminded of birds that nested near Mount Vernon. He could watch them all day, and for reasons he struggled to put names to, Lafayette was the same.

“Forgive me, sir, but I do not think I ‘ave ever seen a man do lookout duties while he sleeps.”

“Hah, I was not sleeping. Thinking. Besides, the British would be foolish to attack in this light.”

Squinting to the east, a finger tracing the horizon line.

“Mountains to the west, and flat ground for miles out that way. We’d see them coming in good time.”

“Always thinking ahead, commander.”

Tone was always difficult to discern with Gilbert. His accent, with its sing-song highs and lows, obscured any sarcasm or sardonic wit. With that said, George didn’t really mind his fellow soldier’s jabs like he would with others. Lafayette spoke the same way with everyone, be they superior officers or the women he tried to charm at balls. 

The brief silence broke with the younger man commenting “I ‘ave sent another letter to France, sir, with the hope of another ship for the fleet-”

Washington’s ensuing groan interrupted him, and immediately he felt guilty. He was a stickler for manners usually, but just the mention of correspondence made his head ache.

“Sorry, Gilbert, but no war talk right now. I’m taking what respite I can.”

A chuckle, with hints of relief underpinning it. “D’accord, commander. I will oblige”

The Frenchman, flamboyant as always, gestured with a flourish toward Washington’s tent. “Why not in your quarters then, sir? No soldier that’s, ‘ow you say, ‘worth their salt’ would bother you there, no?”

George removed his tricorn from his head, setting it to the side. “Well, I was. But when I looked out here, I saw this tree. It reminded me of the scripture. Micah 4:4?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know it, sir.”

“ “Everyone will sit under their own vine, and under their own fig tree, and no one will make them afraid.” For a little while, I wanted this to be my vine and fig tree. Somewhere the war can’t touch us.”

Suddenly heat flooded his cheeks and the commander found himself looking away from Gilbert. He was not usually vulnerable like this in front of inferior officers, or indeed anyone. He expected a laugh and some snark from the other, but instead felt an arm around his shoulders. A smiling, warm face greeted him as he looked back. His eyes glittered like stars.

“I know ‘ow you feel. I long to be home in France, without the monarchy of course. When this war is won, you should come and see the vineyards with me!”

“Hah, I would like that.” 

“Oh, is that Monsieur Hamilton I see?”

With the arm still around his shoulders, Lafayette pointed at the open flap of a tent. Lit dimly by candlelight, a glimpse of his right-hand man’s frowning face. His hand gripping a quill as he wrote. Washington swore the boy was born with a feather in his hand.

“He’s still writing.”

“The boy never stops. He writes like tomorrow is his final day.”

The two watched Alexander for a while, seeing that distant little hand etching left to right repeatedly. When George spoke again, warmth filled his voice.

“I worry about him. He wishes to be a martyr.”

“He is trying to prove himself, monsieur.”

“To me?”

“To everyone. Most of all, to himself. That he can succeed.”

Just as that was said, Hamilton almost seemed to take his cue, and finished writing. The letter was folded, with a yawn, and soon the observers saw no more, the candle extinguished and the tent falling dark.

“Should we head in for now, then?”

Why did that twinge in Washington’s chest? Certainly, the rest of the camp was in darkness now, but when Lafayette made to get up, his hand caught on the younger man’s tailcoat. It wasn’t often he spent time with an intellectual equal anymore.

“Ah, wait. It’s a warm night out. Um, perhaps we could keep watch out here together?”

“Won’t we fall asleep?”

“Well, it would be harder to sneak up on two men as opposed to one.  _ You  _ only managed it earlier because I wasn’t on guard.”

The marquis barked a short laugh, shaking his head, ponytail swinging like a pendulum. Shrugging, he assumed a cross-legged posture on the grass again. Washington was suddenly aware of how close he was.

“Alright, monsieur Washington. I will stay. Only to prevent any more surprises, oui?”

“Please, call me George.”

The two men put a casual arm around each other’s shoulders and fell quiet, basking in the others’ company. In a war fraught with tension, Gilbert’s presence was like a salve on an itching wound. When his head eventually lolled tiredly against George’s shoulder, he simply lay his head against the soft pillow of his hair in return. Eyes closing, he fell asleep in the open.

He never felt safer.


End file.
